With an old linen duster, which had hung in the office closet sinceAdam Ward's day, to cover her from chin to shoes, and a cap that Johnhimself often wore about the plant, to replace her hat, they set out.

Helen's first impression, as she stood just inside the door to the bigmain room of the plant, was fear. To her gentle eyes the scene was oneof terrifying confusion and unspeakable dangers.

Those great machines were grim and threatening monsters with ponderousjaws and arms and chains that seemed all too light to control theirsullen strength. The noise--roaring, crashing, clanking, moaning,shrieking, hissing--was overpowering in its suggestion of theungoverned tumult that belonged to some strange, unearthly realm.Everywhere, amid this fearful din and these maddening terrors, flittingthrough the murky haze of steam and smoke and dust, were men with sootyfaces and grimy arms. Never had the daughter of Adam Ward seen men atwork like this. She drew closer to John's side and held to his arm asthough half expecting him to vanish suddenly and leave her alone inthis monstrous nightmare.

Looking down at her, John laughed aloud and put his arm about herreassuringly. "Great game, old girl!" he said, with a wholesome pridein his voice. "This is the life!"

And all at once she remembered that this _was_, indeed, life--life asshe had never seen it, never felt it before. And this life game--thisgreatest of all games--was the game that John played with suchabsorbing interest day after day.

"I can understand now why you are not so devoted to tennis and teas asyou used to be," she returned, laughing back at him with a newadmiration in her face.

Then John led her into the very midst of the noisy scene. Carefully heguided her steps through the seeming hurry and confusion of machineryand men. Now they paused before one of those grim monsters to watch itsmighty work. Now they stopped to witness the terrific power displayedby another giant that lifted, with its great arms of steel, a weight ofmany tons as easily as a child would handle a toy. Again, they steppedaside from the path of an engine on its way to some distant part of theplant, or stood before a roaring furnace, or paused to watch a group ofmen, or halted while John exchanged a few brief words with asuperintendent or foreman. And always with boyish enthusiasm Johntalked to her of what they saw, explaining, illustrating, making thepurpose and meaning of every detail clear.

Gradually, as she thus went closer to this life that was at first soterrifying to her, the young woman was conscious of a change withinherself. The grim monsters became kind and friendly as she saw howtheir mighty strength was obedient always to the directing eye and handof the workmen who controlled them. The many noises, as she learned todistinguish them, came to blend into one harmonious whole, like theinstruments in a great orchestra. The confusion, as she came to view itunderstandingly, resolved itself into orderly movement. As she recalledsome of the things that her brother had said to her as they sat on theback porch of the old house, her mind reached out for the larger truth,and she thrilled to the feeling that she was standing, as it were, inthe living, beating heart of the nation. The things that she had beenschooled to hold as of the highest value she saw now for the first timein their just relation to the mighty underlying life of the Mill. Thepetty refinements that had so largely ruled her every thought and deedwere no more than frothy bubbles on the surface of the industrialocean's awful tidal power. The male idlers of her set were suddenlycontemptible in her eyes, as she saw them in comparison with herbrother or with his grimy, sweating comrades.

Presently John was saying, "This is where father used to work--beforethe days of the new process, I mean. That bench there is the very onehe used, side by side with Uncle Pete and the Interpreter."

Helen stared at the old workbench that stood against the wall and atthe backs of the men, as though under a spell. Her father workingthere!

Her brain all at once was crowded with questions to which there were noanswers. What if Adam Ward were still a workman at that bench? What ifit had been the Interpreter who had discovered the new process? What ifher father had lost his legs? What if John, instead of being themanager, were one of those men who worked with their hands? What ifthey had never left the old house next door to Mary and Charlie? Whatif--

"Uncle Pete," said John, "look here and see who's with us thisafternoon."

Mary's father turned from his work and they laughed at the expressionon his face when he saw her standing there.

And it was the Helen of the old house who greeted him, and who was sointerested in what he was doing and asked so many really intelligentquestions that he was proud of her.

They had left Uncle Pete at his bench, and Helen's mind was again busywith those unanswerable questions--so busy, in fact, that she scarcelyheard John saying, "I want to show you a lathe over here, Helen, thatis really worth seeing. It is, on the whole, the finest and mostintricate piece of machinery in the whole plant." And, he added, asthey drew near the subject of his remarks, "You may believe me, ittakes an exceptional workman to handle it. There are only three men inour entire force who are ever permitted to touch it. They are expertsin their line and naturally are the best paid men we have."

As he finished speaking they paused beside a huge affair of black ironand gray steel, that to Helen seemed an incomprehensible tangle ofwheels and levers.

A workman was bending over the machine, so absorbed apparently in thecomplications of his valuable charge that he was unaware of theirpresence.

Helen spoke close to her brother's ear, "Is he one of your threeexperts?"

John nodded. "He is the chief. The other two are reallyassistants--sort of understudies, you know."

At that moment the man straightened up, stood for an instant with hiseyes still on his work, then, as he was turning to another part of theintricate mechanism, he saw them.

"Hello, Charlie!" said the grinning manager, and to his sister, "Surelyyou haven't forgotten Captain Martin, Helen?"

In the brief moments that followed Helen Ward knew that she had reachedthe point toward which she had felt herself moving for severalmonths--impelled by strange forces beyond her comprehension.

Her brother's renewed and firmly established friendship with thisplaymate of their childhood years, together with the many stirringtales that John had told of his comrade captain's life in France, couldnot but awaken her interest in the boy lover whom she had, as shebelieved, so successfully forgotten. The puzzling change in herbrother's life interests, has neglect of so many of his pre-warassociates and his persistent comradeship with his fellow workman, hadkept alive that interest; while Captain Martin's repeated refusals toaccept John's invitations to the big home on the hill had curiouslytouched her woman's pride and at the same time had compelled herrespect.

The clash between John's new industrial and social convictions and theclass consciousness to which she had been so carefully schooled, withits background of her father's wretched mental condition, theunhappiness of her home and her own repeated failures to findcontentment in the privileges of material wealth, raised in her mindquestions which she had never before faced.

Her talks with the Interpreter, the slow forming of the lines of theapproaching industrial struggle, with the sharpening of the contrastbetween McIver and John, her acquaintance with Bobby and Maggie,even--all tended to drive her on in her search for the answer to herproblem.

And so she had been carried to the Martin cottage--to her talk withJohn at the old house--to the Mill--to this.

As one may intuitively sense the crisis in a great struggle betweenlife and death, this woman knew that in this man all her disturbinglife questions were centered. Deep beneath the many changes that herfather's material success in life had brought to her, one unalterablelife fact asserted itself with startling power: It was this man who hadfirst awakened in her the consciousness of her womanhood. Face to facewith this workman in her father's Mill, she fought to control thesituation.

To all outward appearances she did control it. Her brother saw only areserved interest in his workman comrade. Captain Martin saw only thedaughter of his employer who had so coldly preferred her newer friendsto the less pretentious companions of her girlhood.

But beneath the commonplace remarks demanded by the occasion, the Helenof the old house was struggling for supremacy. The spirit that she hadfelt in the office when John talked with his fellow workmen, she feltnow in the presence of this workman. The power, the strength, thebigness, the meaning of the Mill, as it had come to her, were allpersonified in him. A strange exultation of possession lifted her up.She was hungry for her own; she wanted to cry out: "This work is mywork--these people are my people--this man is my man!"

It was Captain Charlie who ended the interview with the excuse that thebig machine needed his immediate attention. He had stood as they talkedwith a hand on one of the controls and several times he had turned awatchful eye on his charge. It was almost, Helen thought with a littlethrill of triumph, as though the man sought in the familiar touch ofhis iron and steel a calmness and self-control that he needed. But now,when he turned to give his attention wholly to his work, with theeffect of politely dismissing her, she felt as though he had suddenly,if ever so politely, closed a door in her face.

John must have felt it a little, too, for he became rather quiet asthey went on and soon concluded their inspection of the plant.

At the office door, Helen paused and turned to look back, as ifreluctant to leave the scene that had now such meaning for her, whileher brother stood silently watching her. Not until they were back inthe manager's office and Helen was ready to return to the outside worlddid John Ward speak.

Facing her with his straightforward soldierly manner, he said,inquiringly, "Well?"

She returned his look with steady frankness. "I can't tell you what Ithink about it all now, John dear. Sometime, perhaps, I may try. It istoo big--too vital--too close. I am glad I came. I am sorry, too."

So he took her to her waiting car.

For a moment he stood looking thoughtfully after the departing machineand then, with an odd little smile, went back to his work.

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE NIGHT

Helen knew, even as she told the chauffeur to drive her home, that shedid not wish to return just then to the big house on the hill. Her mindwas too crowded with thoughts she could not entertain in the atmosphereof her home; her heart was too deeply moved by emotions that shescarcely dared acknowledge even to herself.

She thought of the country club, but that, in her present mood, wasimpossible. The Interpreter--she was about to tell Tom that she wishedto call at the hut on the cliff, but decided against it. She fearedthat she might reveal to the old basket maker things that she wished tohide. She might go for a drive in the country, but she shrank frombeing alone. She wanted some one who could take her out ofherself--some one to whom she could talk without betraying herself.

Not far from the Mill a number of children were playing in the dustyroad.

Helen did not notice the youngsters, but Tom, being a careful driver,slowed down, even though they were already scurrying aside for theautomobile to pass. Suddenly she was startled by a shrill yell."Hello, there! Hello, Miss!"

Bobby Whaley, in his frantic efforts to attract her attention, wasjumping up and down, waving his cap and screeching like a wild boy,while his companions looked on in wide-eyed wonder, half in awe at hisdaring, half in fear of the possible consequence.

To the everlasting honor and glory of Sam Whaley's son, the automobilestopped. The lady, looking back, called, "Hello, Bobby!" and waitedexpectantly for him to approach.

With a look of haughty triumph at Skinny and Chuck, the lad swaggeredforward, a grin of overpowering delight at his achievement on hisdirty, freckled countenance.

"I am so glad you called to me," Helen said, when he was close. "I wasjust wishing for some one to go with me for a ride in the country.Would you like to come?"

"Gee," returned the urchin, "I'll say I would."

"Do you think your mother would be willing for you to go?"

"Lord, yes--ma, she ain't a-carin' where we kids are jest so's we ain'tunder her feet when she's a-workin'."

"And could you find Maggie, do you think? Perhaps she would enjoy theride, too."

Their united efforts were not in vain. From the rear of a near-by houselittle Maggie appeared. A dirty, faded old shawl was wrapped about hertiny waist, hiding her bare feet and trailing behind. A sorry wreck ofa hat trimmed with three chicken feathers crowned her uncombed hair,and the ragged remnants of a pair of black cotton gloves completed herelegant costume. In her thin little arms she held, with tender mothercare, a doll so battered and worn by its long service that one wonderedat the imaginative power of the child who could make of it anything buta shapeless bundle of dirty rags.

"Get a move on yer, Mag!" yelled the masterful Bobby, with franticgestures. "The princess lady is a-goin' t' take us fer a ride in herswell limerseen with her driver 'n' everything."

For one unbelieving moment, little Maggie turned to the two miniatureladies who, in costumes that rivaled her own, had come to ask the causeof this unseemly disturbance of their social affair. Then, at anothershout from her brother, she discarded her finery and, holding fast toher doll with true mother instinct, hurried timidly to the waitingautomobile.

On that day when Helen had sent her servant to take them for a ride,these children of the Flats had thought that no greater happiness waspossible to mere human beings. But now, as they sat with theirbeautiful princess lady between them on the deep-cushioned seat, andwatched the familiar houses glide swiftly past, even Bobby was silent.It was all so unreal--so like a dream. Their former experience was sofar surpassed that they would not have been surprised had theautomobile been suddenly transformed into a magic ship of the air, withTom a fairy pilot to carry them away up among the clouds to somewonderful sunshine castle in the sky.

It is true that Bobby's conscience stirred uneasily when he felt an armsteal gently about him and he was drawn a little closer to the princesslady's side. A feller with a proper pride does not readily permit suchfamiliarities. It had been a long time since any one had put an armaround Bobby--he did not quite understand.

But as for that, the princess lady herself did not quite understandeither. Perhaps the sight of little Maggie and her play lady friends soelegantly costumed for their social function had suddenly convinced herthat these children of the Flats were of her world after all. Perhapsthe shouting children had awakened memories that banished for themoment the sadness of her grown-up years. Or it may have been simplythe way that wee Maggie held her battered doll. It may have been thatthe mother instinct of this wistful mite of humanity quickened in theheart of the young woman something that was deeper, more vital, morereal to her womanhood than the things to which she had so far givenherself. As the Helen of the old house had longed to cry aloud in theMill her recognition of her man, she hungered now with a strange womanhunger for the feel of a child in her arms.

And so, with no care for her gown, which was sure to be ruined by thiscontact with the grime of the Flats, with no question as to what peoplemight think, with no thought for class standards or industrialproblems, the daughter of Adam Ward took the children of Sam Whaley inher arms and carried them away from the shadow of that dark cloud thathung always above the Mill. From the smoke and dust and filth of theirheritage, she took them into the clean, sunny air of the hillsidefields and woods. From the hovels and shanties of their familiar hauntsshe took them where birds made their nests and the golden bees andbright-winged butterflies were busy among their flowers. From thesqualid want and cruel neglect of their poverty she took them into afairyland that was overflowing with the riches that belong tochildhood.

And then, when the sun was red above the bluff where the curving lineof cliffs end at the river's edge, she brought them back.

For some reason that has never been made satisfactorily clear by thewise ones who lead the world's thinking, Bobby and Maggie must alwaysbe brought back to their home in the Flats, the princess lady mustalways return to her castle on the hill.

* * * * *

Charlie Martin was unusually quiet when he returned home from his workthat day. The father mentioned Helen's visit to the Mill, and Mary hadmany questions to ask, but the soldier workman, usually so ready totalk and laugh with his sister, answered only in monosyllables orsilently permitted the older man to carry the burden of theconversation.

When supper was over and it was dark, Charlie, saying that he thoughthe ought to attend Jake Vodell's street meeting that evening, left thehouse.

But Captain Charlie did not go to hear the agitator's soap-box orationthat night. For an hour or more, under cover of the darkness, theworkman sat on the porch of the old house next door to his home.

He had pushed aside the broken gate and made his way up theweed-tangled walk so quietly that neither his sister nor his father,who were on the porch of the cottage, heard a sound. So still was hethat two neighborhood lovers, who paused in their slow walk, as iftempted by the friendly shadow of the lonely old place, did not knowthat he was there. Then at something her father said, Mary's laugh rangout, and the lovers moved on.

A little later Captain Charlie stole softly out of the yard and up thestreet in the direction from which Helen had come the day of her visitto the old house. When the sound of his feet on the walk could not beheard at the cottage, the workman walked briskly, taking the way thatled toward the Interpreter's hut.

One who knew him would have thought that he was going for an eveningcall on the old basket maker. He saw the light of the little house onthe cliff presently, and for a moment walked slowly, as if debatingwhether or not he should go on as he had intended. Then he turned offfrom the way to the Interpreter's and took that seldom used road thatled up the hill toward the home of Adam Ward. With a strong, easystride he swung up the grade until he came to the corner of the ironfence. Slowly and quietly he moved on now in the deeper shadows of thetrees. When he could see the gloomy mass of the house unobstructedagainst the sky, he stopped.

The lower floor was brightly lighted. The windows above were dark. Withhis back against the trunk of a tree Captain Charlie waited.

An automobile came out between the stone columns of the big gate andthundered away down the street with reckless speed. Adam Ward, thoughtthe man under the tree--even John never drove like that. And hewondered where the old Mill owner could be going at such an hour of thenight.

Still he waited.

Suddenly a light flashed out from the windows of an upper room. Amoment, and the watcher saw the form of a woman framed in the casementagainst the bright background. For some time she stood there, her face,shaded by her hands, pressed close to the glass, as if she were tryingto see into the darkness of the night. Then she drew back. The shadewas drawn.

Very slowly Captain Charlie went back down the hill.

BOOK III

THE STRIKE

"_O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar; Then let your mighty chorus witness be To them, and Caesar, that we still make war_."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE GATHERING STORM

In the weeks immediately following her visit to the Mill, Helen Wardmet the demands of her world apparently as usual. If any one noticedthat she failed to enter into the affairs of her associates with thesame lively interest which had made her a leader among those who donothing strenuously, they attributed it to her father's ill health. Andin this they were partially right. Ever since the day when she halfrevealed her fears to the Interpreter, the young woman's feeling thather father's ill health and the unhappiness of her home were the resultof some hidden thing, had gamed in strength. Since her meeting withCaptain Charlie there had been in her heart a deepening convictionthat, but for this same hidden thing, she would have known in all itsfullness a happiness of which she could now only dream.

More frequently than ever before, she went now to sit with theInterpreter on the balcony porch of that little hut on the cliff. ButBobby and Maggie wished in vain for their princess lady to come andtake them again into the land of trees and birds and flowers andsunshiny hills and clean blue sky. Often, now, she went to meet herbrother when his day's work was done, and, sending Tom home with herbig car, she would go with John in his roadster. And always while hetold her of the Mill and led her deeper into the meaning of theindustry and its relation to the life of the people, she listened witheager interest. But she did not go again to the Martin cottage or visitthe old house.

Once at the foot of the Interpreter's zigzag stairway she met CaptainMartin and greeted him in passing. Two or three times she caught aglimpse of him among the men coming from the Mill as she waited forJohn in front of the office. That was all. But always she was consciousof him. When from the Interpreter's hut she watched the twistingcolumns of smoke rising from the tall stacks, her thoughts were withthe workman who somewhere under that cloud was doing his full share inthe industrial army of his people. When John talked to her of the Milland its meaning, her heart was glad for her brother's loyal comradeshipwith this man who had been his captain over there. The very sound ofthe deep-toned whistle that carried to Adam Ward the proud realizationof his material possessions carried to his daughter thoughts of what,but for those same material possessions, might have been.

For relief she turned to McIver. There was a rocklike quality in thefactory owner that had always appealed to her. His convictions were sounwavering--his judgments so final. McIver never doubted McIver. Henever, in his own mind, questioned what he did by the standards ofright and justice. The only question he ever asked himself was, WouldMcIver win or lose? Any suggestion of a difference of opinion on thepart of another was taken as a personal insult that was not to betolerated. Therefore, because the man was what he was, his classconvictions were deeply grounded, fixed and certain. In the turmoil ofher warring thoughts and disturbed emotions Helen felt her own balanceso shaken that she instinctively reached out to steady herself by him.The man, feeling her turn to him, pressed his suit with all the ardorshe would permit, for he saw in his success not only possession of thewoman he wanted, but the overthrow of John's opposition to his businessplans and the consequent triumph of his personal material interests andthe interests of his class. But, in spite of the relief she gained fromthe strength of McIver's convictions, some strange influence withinherself prevented her from yielding. She probably would yield at last,she told herself drearily--because there seemed to be nothing else forher to do.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, from his hut on the cliff, the Interpreter watched theapproach of the industrial storm.

The cloud that had appeared on the Millsburgh horizon with the comingof Jake Vodell had steadily assumed more threatening proportions untilnow it hung dark with gloomy menace above the work and the homes of thepeople. To the man in the wheel chair, looking out upon the scene thatlay with all its varied human interests before him, there was no bit oflife anywhere that was not in the shadow of the gathering storm. Themills and factories along the river, the stores and banks and interestsof the business section, the farms in the valley, the wretched Flats,the cottage homes of the workmen and the homes on the hillside, wereall alike in the path of the swiftly approaching danger.

The people with anxious eyes watched for the storm to break and madesuch hurried preparations as they could. They heard the dull, mutteringsound of its heavy voice and looked at one another in silent dread ortalked, neighbor to neighbor, in low tones. A strange hush was overthis community of American citizens. In their work, in their pleasures,in their home life, in their love and happiness, in their very sorrows,they felt the deadening presence of this dread thing that was sweepingupon them from somewhere beyond the borders of their native land. Andagainst this death that filled the air they seemingly knew not how todefend themselves.

This, to the Interpreter, was the almost unbelievable tragedy--that thepeople should not know what to do; that they should not have given morethought to making the structure of their citizenship stormproof.

"The great trouble is that the people don't line up right," saidCaptain Charlie to John and the Interpreter one evening as the workmanand the general manager were sitting with the old basket maker on thebalcony porch.

"Just what do you mean by that, Charlie?" asked John. The man in thewheel chair was nodding his assent to the union man's remark.

"I mean," Charlie explained, "that the people consider only capital andlabor, or workmen and business men. They put loyal American workmen andimperialist workmen all together on one side and loyal Americanbusiness men and imperialist business men all together on the other.They line up _all_ employees against _all_ employers. For example, asthe people see it, you and I are enemies and the Mill is our battleground. The fact is that the imperialist manual workman is as much myenemy as he is yours. The imperialist business man is as much yourenemy as he is mine."

"You are exactly right, Charlie," said the Interpreter. "And that isthe first thing that the Big Idea applied to our industries will do--itwill line up the great body of loyal American workmen that yourepresent with the great body of loyal American business men that Johnrepresents against the McIvers of capital and the Jake Vodells oflabor. And that new line-up alone would practically insure victory.Nine tenths of our industrial troubles are due to the fact thatemployers and employees alike fail to recognize their real enemies andso fight their friends as often as they fight their foes.

"The people must learn to call an industrial slacker a slacker, whetherhe loafs on a park bench or loafs on the veranda of the country clubhouse. They have to recognize that a traitor to the industries is atraitor to the nation and that he is a traitor whether he works at abench or runs a bank. They have to say to the imperialist of businessand to the imperialist of labor alike, 'The industries of this countryare not for you or your class alone, they are for all because the verylife of the nation is in them and is dependent upon them.' When thepeople of this country learn to draw the lines of class where theyreally belong there will be an end to our industrial wars and to allthe suffering that they cause."

"If only the people could be lined up and made to declare themselvesopenly," said John, "Jake Vodell would have about as much chance tomake trouble among us as the German Crown Prince would have had amongthe French Blue Devils."

Charlie laughed.

"Which means, I suppose," said the Interpreter, "that there would be ariot to see who could lay hands on him first."

* * * * *

The storm broke at McIver's factory. It was as Jake Vodell had told theInterpreter it would be--"easy to find a grievance."

McIver declared that before he would yield to the demands of hisworkmen, his factory should stand idle until the buildings rotted tothe ground.

The agitator answered that before his men would yield they would makeMillsburgh as a city of the dead.

Two or three of the other smaller unions supported McIver's employeeswith sympathetic strikes. But the success or failure of Jake Vodell'scampaign quickly turned on the action of the powerful Mill workers'union. The commander-in-chief of the striking forces must win JohnWard's employees to his cause or suffer defeat. He bent every effort tothat end.

Sam Whaley and a few like him walked out. But that was expected byeverybody, for Sam Whaley had identified himself from the day ofVodell's arrival in Millsburgh as the agitator's devoted follower andright-hand man. But this unstable, whining weakling and his fellowsfrom the Flats carried little influence with the majority of thesturdy, clearer-visioned workmen.

At a meeting of the Millsburgh Manufacturing Association, McIverendeavored to pledge the organization to a concerted effort against thevarious unions of their workmen.

John Ward refused to enter into any such alliance against the workmen,and branded McIver's plan as being in spirit and purpose identical withthe schemes of Jake Vodell. John argued that while the heads of thevarious related mills and factories possessed the legal right tomaintain their organization for the purpose of furthering such businessinterests as were common to them all, they could not, as loyalcitizens, attempt to deprive their fellow workmen citizens of that sameright. Any such effort to array class against class, he declared, wasnothing less than sheer imperialism, and antagonistic to everyprinciple of American citizenship.

When McIver characterized Vodell as an anarchist and stated that theunions were back of him and his schemes against the government, Johnretorted warmly that the statement was false and an insult to many ofthe most loyal citizens in Millsburgh. There were individual members ofthe unions who were followers of Jake Vodell, certainly. Butcomparatively few of the union men who were led by the agitator tostrike realized the larger plans of their leader, while the unions as awhole no more endorsed anarchy than did the Manufacturing Association.

McIver then drew for his fellow manufacturers a very true picture ofthe industrial troubles throughout the country, and pointed out clearlyand convincingly the national dangers that lay in the threateningconditions. Millsburgh was in no way different from thousands of othercommunities. If the employers could not defend themselves by anorganized effort against their employees, he would like Mr. Ward toexplain who would defend them.

To all of which John answered that it was not a question of employersdefending themselves against their employees. The owners had no more atstake in the situation than did their workmen, for the lives of allwere equally dependent upon the industries that were threatened withdestruction. In the revolution that Jake Vodell's brotherhood wasfomenting the American employers could lose no more than would theAmerican employees. The question was, How could American industries beprotected against both the imperialistic employer and the imperialisticemployee? The answer was, By the united strength of the loyal Americanemployers and employees, openly arrayed against the teachings andleadership of Jake Vodell, on the one hand, and equally against allsuch principles and actions as had been proposed by Mr. McIver, on theother.

When the meeting closed, McIver had failed to gain the support of theassociation.

Realizing that without the Mill he could never succeed in his plans,the factory owner appealed to Adam Ward himself.

The old Mill owner, in full accord with McIver, attempted to force Johninto line. But the younger man refused to enlist in any class waragainst his loyal fellow workmen.

Adam stormed and threatened and predicted utter ruin. John calmlyoffered to resign. The father refused to listen to this, on the groundthat his ill health did not permit him to assume again the managementof the business, and that he would never consent to the Mill's beingoperated by any one outside the family.

When Helen returned to her home in the early evening, she found herfather in a state of mind bordering on insanity.

Striding here and there about the rooms with uncontrollable nervousenergy, he roared, as he always did on such occasions, about his soleownership of the Mill--the legality of the patents that gave himpossession of the new process--how it was his genius and hard workalone that had built up the Mill--that no one should take hispossessions from him--waving his arms and shaking his fists in violent,meaningless gestures. With his face twitching and working and his eyesblazing with excitement and rage, his voice rose almost to a scream:"Let them try to take anything away from me! I know what they are goingto do, but they can't do it. I've had the best lawyers that I couldhire and I've got it all tied up so tight that no one can touch it.

"I could have thrown Pete Martin out of the Mill any time I wanted. Hehas no claim on me that any court in the world would recognize. Let himtry anything he dares. I'll starve him to death--I'll turn him into thestreets--he hasn't a thing in the world that he didn't get by workingfor me. I made him--I will ruin him. You all think that I am sick--youthink that I am crazy--that I don't know what I am talking about. I'llshow you--you'll see what will happen if they start any thing--"

The piteous exhibition ended as usual. As if driven by some invisiblefiend, the man rushed from the presence of those whom he most loved tothe dreadful company of his own fearful and monstrous thoughts.

And the room where the wife and children of Adam Ward sat was filledwith the presence of that hidden thing of which they dared not speak.

* * * * *

Everywhere throughout the city the people were discussing John Ward'sopposition to McIver.

The community, tense with feeling, waited for an answer to the vitalquestion, What would the Mill workers' union do? Upon the answer ofJohn Ward's employees to the demands of the agitator for a sympatheticstrike depended the success or failure of Jake Vodell's Millsburghcampaign.

CHAPTER XIX

ADAM WARD'S WORK

It was evening. The Interpreter was sitting in his wheel chair on thebalcony porch with silent Billy not far away. Beyond the hills on thewest the sky was faintly glowing in the last of the sun's light. TheFlats were deep in gloomy shadows out of which the grim stacks of theMill rose toward the smoky darkness of their overhanging cloud. Hereand there among the poor homes of the workers a lighted window or alonely street lamp shone in the murky dusk. But the lights of thebusiness section of the city gleamed and sparkled like clusters andstrings of jewels, while the residence districts on the hillside weremarked by hundreds of twinkling, starlike points.

The quiet was rudely broken by a voice at the outer doorway of the hut.The tone was that of boisterous familiarity. "Hello! hello there!Anybody home?"

"Here," answered the Interpreter. "Come in. Or, I should say, comeout," he added, as his visitor found his way through the darkness ofthe living room. "A night like this is altogether too fine to spendunder a roof."

"Why in thunder don't you have a light?" said the visitor, with a loudfreedom carefully calculated to give the effect of old and privilegedcomradeship. But the laugh of hearty good fellowship which followed hisnext remark was a trifle overdone "Ain't afraid of bombs, are you?Don't you know that the war is over yet?"

The Interpreter obligingly laughed at the merry witticism, as heanswered, "There is light enough out here under the stars to think by.How are you, Adam Ward?"

From where he stood in the doorway, Adam could see the dim figure ofthe Interpreter's companion at the farther end of the porch. "Who isthat with you?" demanded the Mill owner suspiciously.

Before accepting the invitation to be seated, Adam advanced upon theman in the wheel chair with outstretched hands, as if eagerly meeting amost intimate friend whose regard he prized above all otherrelationships of life. Seizing the Interpreter's hand, he clung to itin an excess of cordiality, all the while pouring out between shortlaughs of pretended gladness, a hurried volume of excuses for having solong delayed calling upon his dear old friend. To any one at allacquainted with the man, it would have been very clear that he wantedsomething.

"It seems ages since I saw you," he declared, as he seated himself atlast. "It's a shame for a man to neglect an old friend as I haveneglected you."

The Interpreter returned, calmly, "The last time you called was justbefore your son enlisted. You wanted me to help you keep him at home."

It was too dark to see Adam's face. "So it was, I remember now." Therewas a suggestion of nervousness in the laugh which followed his words.

"The time before that," said the Interpreter evenly, "was when TomBlair was killed in the Mill. You wanted me to persuade Tom's widowthat you were in no way liable for the accident."

The barometer of Adam's friendliness dropped another degree. "Thataffair was finally settled at five thousand," he said, and this time hedid not laugh.

"The time before that," said the Interpreter, "was when your old friendPeter Martin's wife died. You wanted me to explain to the workmen whoattended the funeral how necessary it was for you to take that hour outof their pay checks."

"You have a good memory," said the visitor, coldly, as he stirreduneasily in the dusk.

"I have," agreed the man in the wheel chair; "I find it a greatblessing at times. It is the only thing that preserves my sense ofhumor. It is not always easy to preserve one's sense of humor, is it,Adam Ward?"

When the Mill owner answered, his voice, more than his words, told howdetermined he was to hold his ground of pleasant, friendly comradeship,at least until he had gained the object of his visit.

"Don't you ever get lonesome up here? Sort of gloomy, ain'tit--especially at nights?"

"Oh, no," returned the Interpreter; "I have many interesting callers;there are always my work and my books and always, night and day, I haveour Mill over there."

"Two good legs, Adam Ward, two good legs," returned the old basketmaker.

Again Adam Ward was at a loss for an answer. In the shadowy presence ofthat old man in the wheel chair the Mill owner was as a wayward childembarrassed before a kindly master.

When the Interpreter spoke again his deep voice was colored with gentlepatience.

"Why have you come to me like this, Adam Ward? What is it that youwant?"

Adam moved uneasily. "Why--nothing particular--I just thought I wouldcall--happened to be going by and saw your light."

There had been no light in the hut that evening. The Interpreterwaited. The surrounding darkness of the night seemed filled withwarring spirits from the gloomy Flats, the mighty Mill, the glitteringstreets and stores and the cheerfully lighted homes.

Adam tried to make his voice sound casual, but he could not altogethercover the nervous intensity of his interest, as he asked the questionthat was so vital to the entire community. "Will the Mill workers'union go out on a sympathetic strike?"

"No."

The Mill owner drew a long breath of relief. "I judged you would know."

The Interpreter did not answer.

Adam spoke with more confidence. "I suppose you know this agitator JakeVodell?"

"I know who he is," replied the Interpreter. "He is a well-knownrepresentative of a foreign society that is seeking, through theworking people of this country, to extend its influence and strengthenits power."

"The unions are going too far," said Adam. "The people won't stand fortheir bringing in a man like Vodell to preach anarchy and stir up allkinds of trouble."

The Interpreter spoke strongly. "Jake Vodell no more represents thegreat body of American union men than you, Adam Ward, represent thegreat body of American employers."

"He works with the unions, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but that does not make him a representative of the union men as awhole, any more than the fact that your work with the great body ofAmerican business men makes you their representative."

"I should like to know why I am not a representative American businessman." It was evident from the tone of his voice that the Mill ownercontrolled himself with an effort.

The Interpreter answered, without a trace of personal feeling, "You donot represent them, Adam Ward, because the spirit and purpose of yourpersonal business career is not the spirit and purpose of our businessmen as a whole--just as the spirit and purpose of such men as JakeVodell is not the spirit and purpose of our union men as a whole."

"But," asserted the Mill owner, "it is men like me who have built upthis country. Look at our railroads, our great manufacturing plants,our industries of all kinds! Look what I have done for Millsburgh! Youknow what the town was when you first came here. Look at it now!"

"The new process has indeed wrought great changes in Millsburgh,"suggested the Interpreter.

"The new process! You mean that _I_ have wrought great changes inMillsburgh. What would the new process have amounted to if it had notbeen for me? Why, even the poor old fools who owned the Mill at thattime couldn't have done anything with it. I had to force it on them.And then when I had managed to get it installed and had proved what itwould do, I made them increase their capitalization and give me a halfinterest--told them if they didn't I would take my process to theircompetitors and put them out of business. Later I managed to gain thecontrol and after that it was easy." His voice changed to a tone ofarrogant, triumphant boasting. "I may not be a representative businessman in _your_ estimation, but my work stands just the same. No man whoknows anything about business will deny that I built up the Mill towhat it is to-day."

"And that," returned the Interpreter, "is exactly what Vodell says forthe men who work with their hands in cooeperation with men like you whowork with their brains. You say that you built the Mill because youthought and planned and directed its building. Jake Vodell says the menwhose physical strength materialized your thoughts, the men who carriedout your plans and toiled under your direction built the Mill. And youand Jake are both right to exactly the same degree. The truth is thatyou have _all together_ built the Mill. You have no more right to thinkor to say that you did it than Pete Martin has to think or to say thathe did it."

When Adam Ward found no answer to this the Interpreter continued."Consider a great building: The idea of the structure has come downthrough the ages from the first habitation of primitive man. The mentalstrength represented in the structure in its every detail is thecomposite thought of every generation of man since the days when humanbeings dwelt in rocky caves and in huts of mud. But listen: Thecapitalist who furnished the money says he did it; the architect sayshe did it; the stone mason says he did it; the carpenter says he didit; the mountains that gave the stone say they did it; the forests thatgrew the timber say they did it; the hills that gave the metal say theydid it.

"The truth is that all did it--that each individual worker, whether hetoiled with his hands or with his brain, was dependent upon all theothers as all were dependent upon those who lived and labored in theages that have gone before, as all are dependent at the last upon theforces of nature that through the ages have labored for all. And thisalso is true, sir, whether you like to admit it or not; just as we--youand I and Pete Martin and the others--all together built the Mill, sowe all together built it for all. You, Adam Ward, can no more keep foryourself alone the fruits of your labor than you alone andsingle-handed could have built the Mill."

The Interpreter paused as if for an answer.

Adam Ward did not speak.

A flare of light from, the stacks of the Mill, where the night shiftwas sweating at its work, drew their eyes. Through the darkness camethe steady song of industry--a song that was charged with the life ofmillions. And they saw the lights of the business district, where JakeVodell was preaching to a throng of idle workmen his doctrine of classhatred and destruction.

The Interpreter's manner was in no way aggressive when he broke thesilence. There was, indeed, in his deep voice an undertone of sorrow,and yet he spoke as with authority. "You were driven here to-night byyour fear, Adam Ward. You recognize the menace to this community and toour nation in the influence and teaching of men like Jake Vodell. Mostof all, you fear for yourself and your material possessions. And youhave reason to be afraid of this danger that you yourself have broughtupon Millsburgh."

The Interpreter answered, solemnly, "I say that but for you and suchmen as you, Adam Ward, Jake Vodell could never gain a hearing in anyAmerican city."

Adam Ward laughed harshly.

But the old basket maker continued as if he had not heard. "Every actof your business career, sir, has been a refusal to recognize those whohave worked with you. Your whole life has been an over assertion ofyour personal independence and a denial of the greatest of alllaws--the law of _dependence_, which is the vital principle of lifeitself. And so you have, through these years, upheld and exemplified tothe working people the very selfishness to which Jake Vodell appealsnow with such sad effectiveness. It is the class pride and intolerancewhich you have fostered in yourself and family that have begotten theclass hatred which makes Vodell's plans against our government adangerous possibility. Your fathers fought in a great war forindependence, Adam Ward. Your son must now fight for a recognition ofthat _dependence_ without which the _independence_ won by your fatherwill surely perish from the earth."

At the mention of his son, the Mill owner moved impatiently and spokewith bitter resentment. "A fine mess you are making of things with your'dependence.'"

"It is a fine mess that you have made of things, Adam Ward, with your'_in_dependence,'" returned the Interpreter, sternly.

"I can tell you one thing," said Adam. "Your unions will neverstraighten anything out with the help of Jake Vodell and his gang ofmurdering anarchists."

"You are exactly right," agreed the Interpreter. "And I can tell you athing to match the truth of your statement. Your combinations ofemployers will never straighten anything out with the help of such menas McIver and his hired gunmen and his talk about driving men to workat the point of the bayonet. But McIver and his principles are notendorsed by our American employers," continued the Interpreter, "anymore than Jake Vodell and his methods are endorsed by our Americanunion employees. The fact is that the great body of loyal Americanemployers and employees, which is, indeed, the body of our nationitself, is fast coming to recognize the truth that our industries mustsomehow be saved from the destruction that is threatened by both theMcIvers of capital and the Vodells of labor. Our Mill, Adam Ward, thatyou and Pete Martin and I built together and that, whether you admit itor not, we built for all mankind, our Mill must be protected againstboth employers and employees. It must be protected, not because theownership, under our laws, happens to be vested in you as an individualcitizen, but because of that larger ownership which, under theuniversal laws of humanity, is vested in the people whose lives aredependent upon that Mill as an essential industry. The Mill must besaved, indeed, for the very people who would destroy it."

"Very fine!" sneered Adam; "and perhaps you will tell me who is to savemy Mill that is not my Mill for the very people who own it and whowould destroy it?"

The voice of the Interpreter was colored with the fire of prophecy ashe answered, "In the name of humanity, the sons of the men who builtthe Mill will save it for humanity. Your boy John, Adam Ward, and PeteMartin's boy Charlie represent the united armies of American employersand employees that stand in common loyalty against the forces that are,through the destruction of our industries, seeking to bring about thedownfall of our nation."

Adam Ward laughed. "Tell that to your partner Billy Rand over there; hewill hear it as quick as the American people will."

But the man in the wheel chair was not disturbed by Adam Ward'slaughing.

"The great war taught the American people some mighty lessons, AdamWard," he said. "It taught us that patriotism is not of one class orrank, but is common to every level of our national social life. Ittaught us that heroism is the birthright of both office and shop. Mostof all did the war teach us the lesson of comradeship--that men ofevery rank and class and occupation could stand together, live togetherand die together, united in the bonds of a common, loyal citizenshipfor a common, human cause. And out of that war and its lessons our ownnational saviors are come. The loyal patriot employers and the loyalpatriot employees, who on the fields of war were brother members ofthat great union of sacrifice and death, will together free theindustries of their own country from the two equally menacingterrors--imperialistic capital and imperialistic labor.

"The comradeship of your son with the workman Charlie Martin, the standthat John has taken against McIver, and the refusal of the Millworkers' union to accept Vodell's leadership--is the answer to yourquestion, 'Who is to save the Mill?'"

"Rot!" exclaimed Adam Ward. "You talk as though every man who went tothat war was inspired by the highest motives. They were not all heroesby a good deal."

"True," returned the Interpreter, "they were not all heroes. But therewas the leaven that leavened the lump, and so the army itself washeroic."

"What about the moral degeneracy and the crime wave that have followedthe return of your heroic army?" demanded Adam.

"True, again," returned the Interpreter; "it is inevitable that menwhose inherited instincts and tendencies are toward crime shouldacquire in the school of war a bolder spirit--a more reckless daring intheir criminal living. But again there is the saving leaven thatleavens the lump. If the war training makes criminals more bold, it assurely makes the leaven of nobility more powerful. One splendid exampleof noble heroism is ten thousand times more potent in the world than athousand revolting deeds of crime. No--no, Adam Ward, the world willnot forget the lessons it learned over there. The torch of Flandersfields has not fallen. The world will carry on."

There was such a quality of reverent conviction in the concluding wordsof the man in the wheel chair that Adam Ward was silenced.

For some time they sat, looking into the night where the huge bulk ofthe Mill with its towering stacks and overhanging clouds seemed todominate not only the neighboring shops and factories and the immediateFlats, but in some mysterious way to extend itself over the businessdistrict and the homes of the city, and, like a ruling spirit, topervade the entire valley, even unto the distant line of hills.

When the old basket maker spoke again, that note of strange and solemnauthority was in his voice. "Listen, Adam Ward! In the ideals, theheroism, the suffering, the sacrifice of the war--in shell hole andtrench and bloody No Man's Land, the sons of men have found again theGod that you and men like you had banished from the Mill. Your boy andPete Martin's boy, with more thousands of their comrades than men ofyour mind realize, have come back from the war fields of France toenthrone God once more in the industrial world. And it shall come thatevery forge and furnace and anvil and machine shall be an organ to Hispraise--that every suit of overalls shall be a priestly robe ofministering service. And this God that you banished from the Mill andthat is to be by your son restored to His throne and served by apriesthood of united employers and employees, shall bear a new name,Adam Ward, and that name shall be WORK."

Awed by the strange majesty of the Interpreter's voice, Adam Ward couldonly whisper fearfully, "Work--the name of God shall be Work!" "Ay,Adam Ward, WORK--and why not? Does not the work of the world expressthe ideals, the purpose, the needs, the life, the _oneness_ of theworld's humanity, even as a flower expresses the plant that puts itforth? And is not God the ultimate flowering of the human plant?"

The Mill owner spoke with timid hesitation, "Could I--do youthink--could I, perhaps, help to, as you say, put God back into theMill?"

"Your part in the building of the Mill is finished, Adam Ward," camethe solemn answer. "You have made many contracts with men, sir; youshould now make a contract with your God."

The owner of the new process sprang to his feet with an exclamation offear. As one who sees a thing of horror in the dark, he drew back,trembling.

That deep, inexorable voice of sorrowful authority went on, "Make acontract with your God, Adam Ward; make a contract with your God."

With a wild cry of terror Adam Ward fled into the night.

The Interpreter in his wheel chair looked up at the stars.

* * * * *

It seems scarcely possible that the old basket maker could haveforeseen the tragic effect of his words--and yet--

CHAPTER XX

THE PEOPLE'S AMERICA

At his evening meetings on the street, Jake Vodell with stirringoratory kindled the fire of his cause. In the councils of the unions,through individuals and groups, with clever arguments and inflamingliterature, he sought recruits. With stinging sarcasm and witheringscorn he taunted the laboring people--told them they were fools andcowards to submit to the degrading slavery of their capitalist owners.With biting invective and blistering epithet he pictured their employerenemies as the brutal and ruthless destroyers of their homes. Withthrilling eloquence he fanned the flames of class hatred, inspired theloyalty of his followers to himself and held out to them goldenpromises of reward if they would prove themselves men and take thatwhich belonged to them.

But the Mill workers' union, as an organization, was steadfast in itsrefusal to be dominated by this agitator who was so clearlyantagonistic to every principle of American citizenship. Jake Vodellcould neither lead nor drive them into a strike that was so evidentlycalled in the interests of his cause. And more and more the agitatorwas compelled to recognize the powerful influence of the Interpreter.It was not long before he went to the hut on the cliff with a positivedemand for the old basket maker's open support.

"I do not know why it is," he said, "that a poor old cripple like youshould have such power among men, but I know it is so. You shall tellthis Captain Charlie and his crowd of fools that they must help me towin for the laboring people their freedom. You shall, for me, enlistthese Mill men in the cause."

The Interpreter asked, gravely, "And when you have accomplished thisthat you call freedom--when you have gained this equality that you talkabout--how will your brotherhood be governed?"

Jake Vodell scowled as he gazed at the man in the wheel chair withquick suspicion. "Governed?"

"Yes," returned the Interpreter. "Without organization of some sortnothing can be done. No industries can be carried on without theconcerted effort which is organization. Without the industry that isnecessary to human life the free people you picture cannot exist.Without government--which means law and the enforcement oflaw--organization of any kind is impossible."

"There will have to be organization, certainly," answered Vodell.

"Then, there will be leaders, directors, managers with authority towhom the people must surrender themselves as individuals," said theInterpreter, quietly. "An organization without leadership isimpossible."

The agitator's voice was triumphant, as he said, "Certainly there willbe leaders. And their authority will be unquestioned. And these leaderswill be those who have led the people out of the miserable bondage oftheir present condition."

The Interpreter's voice had a new note in it now, as he said, "In otherwords, sir, what you propose is simply to substitute _yourself_ forMcIver. You propose to the people that they overthrow their presentleaders in the industries of their nation in order that you and yourfellow agitators may become their masters. You demand that the citizensof America abolish their national government and in its place acceptyou and your fellows as their rulers? What assurance can you give thepeople, sir, that under your rule they will have more freedom forself-government, more opportunities for self-advancement and prosperityand happiness than they have at present?"

"Assurance?" muttered the other, startled by the Interpreter's manner.

The old basket maker continued, "Are you and your self-constitutedleaders of the American working people, gods? Are you not as human asany McIver or Adam Ward of the very class you condemn? Would you not besubject to the same temptations of power--the same human passions?Would you not, given the same opportunity, be all that you say theyare--or worse?"

Jake Vodell's countenance was black with rage. He started to rise, buta movement of Billy Rand made him hesitate. His voice was harsh withmenacing passion. "And you call yourself a friend of the laboringclass?"

"It is because I am a friend of my fellow American citizens that I askyou what freedom your brotherhood can insure to us that we have notnow," the Interpreter answered, solemnly. "Look there, sir." He swept,in a gesture, the scene that lay within view of his balcony porch."_That_ is America--_my_ America--the America of the _people_. From thewretched hovels of the incompetent and unfortunate Sam Whaleys in theFlats down there to Adam Ward's castle on the hill yonder, it is _our_America. From the happy little home of that sterling workman, PeterMartin, to the homes of the business workers on the hillside overthere, it is _ours_. From the business district to the beautiful farmsacross the river, it belongs to _us all_. And the Mill there--representing as it does the industries of our nation andstanding for the very life of our people--is _our_ Mill. The troublesthat disturb us--the problems of injustice--the wrongs of selfishnessthat arise through such employers as McIver and such employees as SamWhaley, are _our_ troubles, and we will settle our own difficulties inour own way as loyal American citizens."

The self-appointed apostle of the new freedom had by this time regainedhis self-control. His only answer to the Interpreter was a shrug of histhick shoulders and a flash of white teeth in his black beard.

The old basket maker with his eyes still on the scene that lay beforethem continued. "Because I love my countrymen, sir, I protest thedestructive teachings of your brotherhood. Your ambitious schemes wouldplunge my country into a bloody revolution the horrors of which defythe imagination. America will find a better way. The loyal Americancitizens who labor in our industries and the equally loyal Americanoperators of these industries will never consent to the ruthless murderby hundreds and thousands of our best brains and our best manhood insupport of your visionary theories. My countrymen will never permit theunholy slaughter of innocent women and children, that would result fromyour efforts to overthrow our government and establish a whollyimpossible Utopia upon the basis of an equality that is contrary toevery law of life. You preach freedom to the working people in order torob them of the freedom they already have. With visions of impossiblewealth and luxurious idleness you blind them to the greater happinessthat is within reach of their industry. In the name of an equality, thepossibility of which your own assumed leadership denies, you incite aclass hatred and breed an intolerance and envy that destroy the goodfeeling of comradeship and break down the noble spirit of that actualequality which we already have and which is our only salvation."

"Equality!" sneered Jake Vodell. "You have a fine equality in thisAmerica of capitalist-ridden fools who are too cowardly to say thattheir souls are their own. It is the equality of Adam Ward and SamWhaley, I suppose."

"Sam Whaley is a product of your teaching, sir," the Interpreteranswered. "The equality of which I speak is that of Adam Ward and PeterMartin as it is evidenced in the building up of the Mill. It is theequality that is in the comradeship of their sons, John and Charlie,who will protect and carry on the work of their fathers. It is theequality of a common citizenship--of mutual dependence of employer andemployee upon the industries, that alone can save our people from wantand starvation and guard our nation from the horrors you would bringupon it."

The man laughed. "Suppose you sing that pretty song to McIver, heh?What do you think he would say?"

"He would laugh, as you are laughing," returned the Interpreter, sadly.

"Tell it to Adam Ward then," jeered the other. "He will recognize hisequality with Peter Martin when you explain it, heh?"

Again Jake Vodell laughed with sneering triumph. "Well, then I guessyou will have to preach your equality to the deaf and dumb man there.Maybe you can make him understand it. The old basket maker without anylegs and the big husky who can neither hear nor talk--they are equals,I suppose, heh?"

"Billy Rand and I perfectly illustrate the equality of dependence,sir," returned the Interpreter. "Billy is as much my superiorphysically as I am his superior mentally. Without my thinking andplanning he would be as helpless as I would be without his good bodilystrength. We are each equally dependent upon the other, and from thatmutual dependence comes our comradeship in the industry which alonesecures for us the necessities of life. I could not make basketswithout Billy's labor--Billy could not make baskets without my planningand directing. And yet, sir, you and McIver would set us to fightingeach other. You would have Billy deny his dependence upon me and usehis strength to destroy me, thus depriving himself of the help he musthave if he would live. McIver would have me deny my dependence uponBilly and by antagonizing him with my assumed superiority turn hisstrength to the destruction of our comradeship by which I also live.Your teaching of class loyalty and class hatred applied to Billy and mewould result in the ruin of our basket making and in our consequentstarvation."

Again the Interpreter, from his wheel chair, pointed with outstretchedarm to the scene that lay with all its varied grades of life--sociallevels and individual interests--before them. "Look," he said, "to theinequality that is there--inequalities that are as great as thedifference between Billy Rand and myself. And yet, every individuallife is dependent upon all the other individual lives. The Mill yonderis the basket making of the people. All alike must look to it for lifeitself. The industries, without which the people cannot exist, can becarried on only by the comradeship of those who labor with their handsand those who work with their brains. In the common dependence all areequal.

"The only equality that your leadership, with its progress ofdestruction, can insure to American employers and employees is anequality of indescribable suffering and death."

The old basket maker paused a moment before he added, solemnly, "Iwonder that you dare assume the responsibility for such a catastrophe.Have you no God, sir, to whom you must eventually account?"

The man's teeth gleamed in a grin of malicious sarcasm. "I should knowthat you believed in God. Bah! An old woman myth to scare fools andchildren. I suppose you believe in miracles also?"

"I believe in the miracle of life," the Interpreter answered; "and inthe great laws of life--the law of inequality and dependence, that inits operation insures the oneness of all things."

The agitator rose to his feet, and with a shrug of contempt, said,"Very pretty, Mr. Interpreter, very pretty. You watch now from your huthere and you shall see what men who are not crippled old basket makerswill do with that little bit of your America out there. It is I whowill teach Peter Martin and his comrades in the Mill how to deal withyour friend Adam Ward and his class."

"You are too late, sir," said the Interpreter, as the man moved towardthe door.

Jake Vodell turned. "How, too late?" Then as he saw Billy Rand risingto his feet, his hand went quickly inside his vest.

The old basket maker smiled as he once more held out a restraining handtoward his companion. "I do not mean anything like that, sir. I toldyou some time ago that you were defeated in your Millsburgh campaign byAdam Ward's retirement from the Mill. You are too late because you areforced now to deal, not with Adam Ward and Peter Martin, but with theirsons."

"Oh, ho! and what you should say also, is that I am really forced todeal with an old basket maker who has no legs, heh? Well, we shall seeabout that, too, Mr. Interpreter, when the time comes--we shall see."

CHAPTER XXI

PETER MARTIN'S PROBLEM

It was not long until the idle workmen began to feel the want of theirpay envelopes. The grocers and butchers were as dependent upon thosepay envelopes as were the workmen themselves.

The winter was coming on. There was a chill in the air. In the homes ofthe strikers the mothers and their little ones needed not only food butfuel and clothing as well. The crowds at the evening street meetingsbecame more ominous. Through the long, idle days grim, sullen-faced menwalked the streets or stood in groups on the corners watching theirfellow citizens and muttering in low, guarded tones. Members of theMill workers' union were openly branded as cowards and traitors totheir class. The suffering among the women and children became acute.

But Jake Vodell was a master who demanded of his disciples most heroicloyalty, without a thought of the cost--to them.

McIver put an armed guard about his factory and boasted that he couldlive without work. The strikers, he declared, could either starvethemselves and their families or accept his terms.

The agitator was not slow in making capital of McIver's statements.

The factory owner depended upon the suffering of the women and childrento force the workmen to yield to him. Jake Vodell, the self-appointedsavior of the laboring people, depended upon the suffering of women andchildren to drive his followers to the desperate measures that wouldfurther his peculiar and personal interests.

Through all this, the Mill workers' union still refused to accept theleadership of this man whose every interest was anti-American andforeign to the principles of the loyal citizen workman. But the fire ofJake Vodell's oratory and argument was not without kindling power, evenamong John Ward's employees. As the feeling on both sides of thecontroversy grew more bitter and intolerant, the Mill men felt withincreasing force the pull of their class. The taunts and jeers of thestriking workers were felt. The cries of "traitor" hurt. The sufferingof the innocent members of the strikers' families appealed strongly totheir sympathies.

When McIver's imperialistic declaration was known, the number who werein favor of supporting Jake Vodell's campaign increased measurably.

Nearly every day now at some hour of the evening or night, Pete andCaptain Charlie, with others from among their union comrades, mighthave been found in the hut on the cliff in earnest talk with the man inthe wheel chair. The active head of the union was Captain Charlie, ashis father had been before him, but it was no secret that the guidingcounsel that held the men of the Mill steady cane from the old basketmaker.

For John Ward the days were increasingly hard. He could not but sensethe feeling of the men. He knew that if Jake Vodell could win them,such disaster as the people of Millsburgh had never seen would result.The interest and sympathy of Helen, the comradeship of Captain Charlie,and the strength of the Interpreter gave him courage and hope. Butthere was nothing that he could do. He felt as he had felt sometimes inFrance when he was called upon to stand and wait. It was a relief tohelp Mary as he could in her work among the sufferers. But even thisactivity of mercy was turned against him by both McIver and Vodell. Thefactory man blamed him for prolonging the strike and thus workinginjury to the general business interests of Millsburgh. The strikeleader charged him with seeking to win the favor of the working classin order to influence his own employees against, what he called thefight for their industrial freedom.

The situation was rapidly approaching a crisis when Peter Martin andCaptain Charlie, returning home from a meeting of their union laid oneevening, found the door of the house locked.

The way the two men stood facing each other without a word revealed thetension of their nerves. Captain Charlie's hand shook so that his keyrattled against the lock. But when they were inside and had switched onthe light, a note which Mary had left on the table for them explained.

The young woman had gone to the Flats in answer to a call for help.John was with her. She had left the note so that her father and brotherwould not be alarmed at her absence in case they returned home beforeher.

In their relief, the two men laughed. They were a little ashamed oftheir unspoken fears.

"We might have known," said Pete, and with the words seemed to dismissthe incident from his mind.

But Captain Charlie did not recover so easily. While his father foundthe evening paper and, settling himself in an easy-chair by the table,cleaned his glasses and filled and lighted his pipe, the younger manwent restlessly from room to room, turning on the lights, turning themoff again--all apparently for no reason whatever. He finished hisinspection by returning to the table and again picking up Mary's note.

When he had reread the message he said, slowly, "I thought Johnexpected to be at the office to-night."

Something in his son's voice caused the old workman to look at himsteadily, as he answered, "John probably came by on his way to the Milland dropped in for a few minutes."

"I suppose so," returned Charlie. Then, "Father, do you think it wisefor sister to be so much with John?"

The old workman laid aside his paper. "Why, I don't know--I hadn'tthought much about it, son. It seems natural enough, considering theway you children was all raised together when you was youngsters."

"It's natural enough all right," returned Captain Charlie, and, with abitterness that was very unlike his usual self, he added, "That's, thehell of it--it's too natural--too human--too right for this day andage."

Pete Martin's mind worked rather slowly but he was fully arousednow--Charlie's meaning was clear. "What makes you think that Mary andJohn are thinking of each other in that way, son?"

"How could they help it?" returned Captain Charlie. "Sister is exactlythe kind of woman that John would choose for a wife. Don't I know whathe thinks of the light-headed nonentities in the set that he issupposed to belong to? Hasn't he demonstrated his ideas of classdistinctions? It would never occur to him that there was any reason whyJohn Ward should not love Mary Martin. As for sister--when you think ofthe whole story of their childhood together, of how John and I were allthrough the war, of how he has been in the Mill since we came home, oftheir seeing each other here at the house so much, of the way he hasbeen helping her with her work among the poor in the Flats--well, howcould any woman like sister help loving him?"

While the older man was considering his son's presentation of the case,Captain Charlie added, with characteristic loyalty, "God may have madefiner men than John Ward, but if He did they don't live aroundMillsburgh."

"Well, then, son," said Peter Martin, with his slow smile, "what aboutit? Suppose they are thinking of each other as you say?"

Captain Charlie did not answer for a long minute. And the father,watching, saw in that strong young face the shadow of a hurt which thesoldier workman could not hide.

"It is all so hopeless," said Charlie, at last, in a tone that toldmore clearly than words could have done his own hopelessness. "I--itdon't seem right for Mary to have to bear it, too."

"I'm sorry, son," was all that the old workman said, but CaptainCharlie knew that his father understood.

After that they did not speak until they heard an automobile stop infront of the house.

"That must be Mary now," said Pete, looking at his watch. "They havenever been so late before."

They heard her step on the porch. The sound of the automobile died awayin the distance.

When Mary came in and they saw her face, they knew that Charlie wasright. She tried to return their greetings in her usual manner butfailed pitifully and hurried on to her room.

The two men looked at each other without a word.

Presently Mary returned and told them a part of her evening'sexperience. Soon after her father and brother had left the house forthe meeting of their union, a boy from the Flats came with the wordthat the wife of one of Jake Vodell's followers was very ill. Mary,knowing the desperate need of the case but fearing to be alone in thatneighborhood at night, had telephoned John at the Mill and he had takenher in his car to the place. The woman, in the agonies of childbirth,was alone with her three little girls. The husband and father wassomewhere helping Jake Vodell in the agitator's noble effort to bringhappiness to the laboring class. While Mary was doing what she could inthe wretched home, John went for a doctor, and to bring fuel andblankets and food and other things that were needed. But, in spite oftheir efforts, the fighting methods of McIver and Vodell scored anotherpoint, that they each might claim with equal reason as in his favor--toGod knows what end.

"I can't understand why you Mill men let them go on," Mary cried, witha sudden outburst of feeling, as she finished her story. "You couldfight for the women and children during the war. Whenever there is ashipwreck the papers are always full of the heroism of the men who cry'women and children first!' Why can't some one think of the women andchildren in these strikes? They are just as innocent as the women andchildren of Belgium. Why don't you talk on the streets and hold massmeetings and drive Jake Vodell and that beast McIver out of thecountry?"

"Jake Vodell and McIver are both hoping that some one will do justthat, Mary," returned Captain Charlie. "They would like nothing betterthan for some one to start a riot. You see, dear, an open clash wouldresult in bloodshed--the troops would be called in by McIver, which isexactly what he wants. Vodell would provoke an attack on the soldiers,some one would be killed, and we would have exactly the sort of waragainst the government that he and his brotherhood are working for."

The old workman spoke. "Charlie is right, daughter; these troubles willnever be settled by McIver's way nor Vodell's way. They will be settledby the employers like John getting together and driving the McIvers outof business--and the employees like Charlie here and a lot of the menin our union getting together with John and his crowd and sending theJake Vodells back to whatever country they came from." When her fatherspoke John's name, the young woman's face colored with a quick blush.The next moment, unable to control her overwrought emotions, she burstinto tears and started to leave the room. But at the door CaptainCharlie caught her in his arms and held her close until the firstviolence of her grief was over.

When she had a little of her usual calmness, her brother whispered, "Iknow all about it, dear."

She raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him with tearfuldoubt. "You know about--about John?" she said, wonderingly.

"Yes," he whispered, with an encouraging smile, "I know--father and Iwere talking about it before you came home. I am going to leave youwith him now. You must tell father, you know. Goodnight,dear--good-night, father."

Slowly Mary turned back into the room. The old workman, sitting therein his big chair, held out his arms. With a little cry she ran to himas she had gone to him all the years of her life.

When she had told him all--how John that very evening on their way homefrom the Flats had asked her to be his wife--and how she, in spite ofher love for him, had forced herself to answer, "No," Pete Martin satwith his head bowed as one deep in thought.

Mary, knowing her father's slow way, waited.

When the old workman spoke at last it was almost as though, unconsciousof his daughter's presence, he talked to himself. "Your mother and Iused to think in the old days when you children were growing uptogether that some time perhaps the two families would be united. Butwhen we watched Adam getting rich and saw what his money was doing tohim and to his home, we got to be rather glad that you children wereseparated. We were so happy ourselves in our own little home here thatwe envied no man. We did not want wealth even for you and Charlie whenwe saw all that went with it. We did not dream that Adam's successcould ever stand in the way of our children's happiness like this. ButI guess that is the way it is, daughter. I remember the Interpreter'ssaying once that no man had a right to make even himself miserablebecause no man could be miserable alone."

The old workman's voice grew still more reflective. "It was the newprocess that made Adam rich. He was no better man at the bench than I.I never considered him as my superior. He happened to be born with adifferent kind of a brain, that is all. And he thought more of money,while I cared more for other things. But there is a good reason why hismoney should not be permitted to stand between his children and mychildren. There is a lot of truth, after all, in Jake Vodell's talkabout the rights of men who work with their hands. The law upholds AdamWard in his possessions, I know. And it would uphold him Just the sameif my children were starving. But the law don't make it right. Thereshould be some way to make a man do what is right--law or no law. Youand John--"

"Father!" cried Mary, alarmed at his words. "Surely you are not goingto hold with Jake Vodell about such things. What do you mean aboutmaking a man do what is right--law or no law?"

"There, there, daughter," said the old workman, smiling. "I was justthinking out loud, I guess. It will be all right for you and John. Runalong to bed now, and don't let a worry come, even into your dreams."

"I would rather give John up a thousand times than have you like JakeVodell," she said. "You shan't even _think_ that way."

When she was gone, Peter Martin filled and lighted his pipe again, andfor another hour sat alone.

Whether or not his thoughts bore any relation to the doctrines of JakeVodell, they led the old workman, on the following day, to pay a visitto Adam Ward at his home on the hill.

CHAPTER XXII

OLD FRIENDS

It was Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing over the littlecity as the old workman climbed the hill to Adam Ward's estate.

There was a touch of frost in the air. The hillside back of theinterpreter's hut was brown. But the sun was bright and warm and inevery quarter of the city the people were going to their appointedplaces of worship. The voice of the Mill was silenced.

Pete wondered if he would find Adam at home. He had not thought aboutit when he left the cottage--his mind had been so filled with theobject of his visit to the man who had once been his working comradeand friend.

But Adam Ward was not at church.

The Mill owner's habits of worship were very simply regulated. If theminister said things that pleased him, and showed a properly humblegratification at Adam's presence in the temple of God, Adam attendeddivine services. If the reverend teacher in the pulpit so far forgothimself as to say anything that jarred Adam's peculiar spiritualsensitiveness, or failed to greet this particular member of his flockwith proper deference, Adam stayed at home and stopped his subscriptionto the cause. Nor did he ever fail to inform his pastor and theofficers of the congregation as to the reason for his nonattendance;always, at the time, assuring them that whenever the minister wouldpreach the truths that he wanted to hear, his weekly offerings to theLord would be renewed. Thus Adam Ward was just and honest in hisreligious life as he was in his business dealings. He was ready always,to pay for that which he received, but, as a matter of principle, hewas careful always to receive exactly what he paid for.

This Sunday morning Adam Ward was at home.

When Pete reached the entrance to the estate the heavy gates wereclosed. As Mary's father stood in doubt before the iron barrier a manappeared on the inside.

"Good-morning, Uncle Pete," he said, in hearty greeting, when he sawwho it was that sought admittance.

"Good-morning, Henry--and what are you doing in there?" returned theworkman, who had known the man from his boyhood.

The other grinned. "Oh, I'm one of the guards at this institution now."

Pete looked at him blankly. "Guards? What are you guarding, Henry?"

Standing close to the iron bars of the gate, Henry glanced over hisshoulder before he answered in a low, cautious tone, "Adam."

The old workman was shocked. "What! you don't mean it!" He shook hisgrizzly head sadly. "I hadn't heard that he was that bad."

Henry laughed. "We're not keepin' the old boy in, Uncle Pete--not yet.So far, our orders are only to keep people out. Dangerous people, Imean--the kind that might want to run away with the castle, or steal alook at the fountain, or sneak a smell of the flowers or something--y'understand."

Pete smiled. "How do you like your job, Henry?"

"Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was you wantin'to come in, Uncle Pete, or just passing' by?"

"I wanted to see Adam if I could."

The man swung open the gate. "Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just so youdon't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb or poison himor something." He pointed toward that part of the grounds where Helenhad watched her father from the arbor. "You'll find him over theresomewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way a few minutes ago. Therest of the family are gone to church."

"Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?" asked Pete, as he steppedinside and the gates were closed behind him.

"Search me," returned the guard, indifferently. "I expect if the truthwere known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks it is,though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a butterfly flit over thesegrounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane a sailin'around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on his head orsomething."

"Poor Adam!" murmured the old workman. "What a way to live!"

"Live?" echoed the guard. "It ain't livin' at all--it's just bein' inhell before your time, that's what it is--if you ask me."

* * * * *

When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautiful grounds,first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacing slowly to andfro across a sunny open space of lawn. As he walked, the Mill owner wastalking to himself and moving his arms and hands in those continuousgestures that seemed so necessary to any expression of his thoughts.Once Pete heard him laugh. And something in the mirthless sound madethe old workman pause. It was then that Adam saw him.

There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemed toparalyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyes werestaring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill. He lookedabout as if he would call for help, and started as if to seek safety inflight.

"Good-morning, Adam Ward," said Pete Martin.

And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam's manner, witha suddenness that was startling, changed. With an elaborate show offriendliness he came eagerly forward. His gray face, twitching withnervous excitement, beamed with joyous welcome. As he hurried acrossthe bit of lawn between them, he waved his arms and rubbed his handstogether in an apparent ecstasy of gladness at this opportunity toreceive such an honored guest. His voice trembled with high-pitchedassurance of his happiness in the occasion. He laughed as one who couldnot contain himself.

"Well, well, well--to think that you have actually come to see me atlast." He grasped the workman's hand in both his own with a grip thatwas excessive in its hearty energy. With affectionate familiarity healmost shouted, "You old scoundrel! I can't believe it is you. Wherehave you been keeping yourself? How are Charlie and Mary? Lord, butit's good to see you here in my own home like this."

While Pete was trying to make some adequate reply to this effusive andstartling reception, Adam looked cautiously about to see if there wereany chance observers lurking near.

Satisfied that no one was watching, he said, nervously, "Come on, let'ssit over here where we can talk." And with his hand on Pete's arm, heled his caller to lawn chairs that were in the open, well beyondhearing of any curious ear in the shrubbery.

Giving the workman opportunity for no more than an occasionalmonosyllable in reply, he poured forth a flood of information about hisestate: The architectural features of his house--the cost; theloveliness of his trees--the cost; the coloring of his flowers--thecost; the magnificence of his view, And all the while he studied hiscaller's face with sharp, furtive glances, trying to find some clew tothe purpose of the workman's visit.

Peter Martin's steady eyes, save for occasional glances at the objectsof Adam's interest as Adam pointed them out, were fixed on the Millowner with a half-wondering, half-pitying expression. Adam's evidentnervousness increased. He talked of his Mill--how he had built it upfrom nothing almost, to its present magnitude--of the city and what hehad done for the people.

The old workman listened without comment.

At last, apparently unable to endure the suspense a moment longer, AdamWard said, nervously, "Well, Pete, out with it! What do you want? I canguess what you are here for. We might as well get done with it."

In his slow, thoughtful manner of speech that was so different from theMill owner's agitated expressions, the old workman said, "I have wantedfor nothing, Adam. We have been contented and happy in our little home.But now," he paused as if his thoughts were loath to form themselvesinto words.

The last vestige of pretense left Adam Ward's face as suddenly as if hehad literally dropped a mask. "It's a good thing you have beensatisfied," he said, coldly. "You had better continue to be. You knowthat you owe everything you have in the world to me! You need notexpect anything more."

"Have you not made a big profit on every hour's work that I have donein your Mill, Adam?"

"Whatever profit I have or have not made on your work is none of yourbusiness, sir," retorted Adam. "I have given you a job all these years.I could have thrown you out. You haven't a thing on earth that you didnot buy with the checks you received from me. I have worn myselfout--made an invalid of myself--building up the business that hasenabled you and the rest of my employees to make a living. Every centthat I ever received from that new process I put back into the Mill.You have had more out of it than I ever did."

Peter Martin looked slowly about at the evidence of Adam Ward's wealth.When he again faced the owner of the estate he spoke as if doubtingthat he had heard him clearly. "But the Mill is yours, Adam?" he said,at last. "And all this is yours. How--where did it come from?"

"Certainly the Mill is mine. Didn't I make it what it is? As for theplace here--it came from the profits of my business, of course. Youknow I was nothing but a common workman when I started out."

"I know," returned Pete. "And it was the new process that enabled youto get control of the Mill--to buy it and build it up--wasn't it? Ifyou hadn't happened to have had the process the Mill would have madeall this for some one else, wouldn't it? We never dreamed that theprocess would grow into such a big thing for anybody when we used totalk it over in the old days, did we, Adam?"

Adam Ward looked cautiously around at the shrubbery that encircled thebit of lawn. There was no one to be seen within hearing distance.

When he faced his companion again the Mill owner's eyes were blazing,but he controlled his voice by a supreme effort of will. "Look here,Pete, I'm not going even to discuss that matter with you. I have keptyou on at the Mill and taken care of you all these years because of ourold friendship and because I was sorry for you. But if you don'tappreciate what I have done for you, if you attempt to start any talkor anything I'll throw you and Charlie out of your jobs to-morrow. AndI'll fix it, too, so you will never either of you get another day'swork in Millsburgh. That process is my property. No one has anyinterest in the patents in any way. I have it tied up so tight that allthe courts in the world couldn't take it away from me. Law is law and Ipropose to keep what the law says is mine. I have thousands of dollarsto spend in defense of my legal rights where you have dimes. Youneedn't whine about moral obligations either. The only obligations thatare of any force in business are legal! If you haven't brains enough tolook after your own interests you can't expect any one else to lookafter them for you."

When Adam Ward finished his countenance was distorted with hate andfear. Before this simple, kindly old workman, in whose honest soulthere was no shadow of a wish to harm any one in any way, the Millowner was like a creature of evil at bay.

"I did not come to talk of the past, Adam Ward," said Pete, sadly. "AndI didn't come to threaten you or to ask anything for myself."

At the gentle sadness of his old friend's manner and words, Adam's eyesgleamed with vicious triumph. "Well, out with it!" he demanded,harshly. "What are you here for?"

"Your boy and my girl love each other, Adam."

An ugly grin twisted the gray lips of Pete's employer.

But Mary's father went on as though he had not seen. "The children wereraised together, Adam. I have always thought of John almost as if hewere my own son. It seems exactly right that he should want Mary andthat she should want him. There is no man in the world I would ratherit would be."

Adam listened, still grinning, as the old workman continued in hisslow, quiet speech.

"I never cared before for all that the new process made for you. Youwanted money--I didn't. But it don't seem right that what youhave--considering how you got it--should stand in the way of Mary'shappiness. I understand that there is nothing I can do about it, but Ithought that, considering everything, you might be willing to--"

Adam Ward laughed aloud--laughed until the tears of his insane gleefilled his eyes. "So that's your game," he said, at last, when he couldspeak. "You hadn't brains enough to protect yourself to start out withand you have found out that you haven't a chance in the world againstme in the courts. So you try to make it by setting your girl up tocatch John."

"You must stop that sort of talk, Adam Ward." Peter Martin was on hisfeet, and there was that in his usually stolid countenance which madethe Mill owner shrink back. "I was a fool, as you say. But my mistakewas that I trusted you. I believed in your pretended friendship for me.I thought you were as honest and honorable as you seemed to be. Ididn't know that your religion was all such a rotten sham. I have nevercared that you grew rich while I remained poor. All these years I havebeen sorry for you because I have had so much of the happiness andcontentment and peace that you have lost. But you must understand, sir,that there are some things that I will do in defense of my childrenthat I would not do in defense of myself."

Adam, white and trembling, drew still farther away. "Be careful," hecried, "I can call half a dozen men before you can move."

Pete continued as if the other had not spoken. "There is no reason inthe world why John and Mary should not marry."

Adam Ward's insane hatred for the workman and his evil joy over thisopportunity to make his old comrade suffer was stronger even than hisfear. With another snarling laugh he retorted, viciously, "There is thebest reason in the world why they will never marry. _I_ am the reason,Pete Martin! And I'd like to see you try to do anything about it."

Mary's father answered, slowly, "I do not understand your hatred forme, Adam. All these years I have been loyal to you. I have never talkedof our affairs to any one--"

Adam interrupted him with a burst of uncontrollable rage. "_Talk_, youfool! Talk all you please. Tell everybody anything you like. Who willbelieve you? You will only get yourself laughed at for being theshort-sighted idiot you were. That process is patented in my name. Iown it. You don't need to keep still on my account, but I tell youagain that if you do try to start anything I'll ruin you and I'll ruinyour children." Suddenly, as if in fear that his rage would carry himtoo far, his manner changed and he spoke with forced coldness. "I amsorry that I cannot continue this interview, Pete. You have all thatyou will ever get from me--children or no children. Go on about yourbusiness as usual and you may hold your job in the Mill as long as youare able to do your work. I had thought that I might give you some sortof a little pension when you got too old to keep up your end with therest of the men."

And then Adam Ward added the crowning insolent expression of his insaneand arrogant egotism. With a pious smirk of his gray, twitching face,he said, "I want you to know, too, Pete, that you can approach me anytime without any feeling of humiliation."

He turned abruptly away and a moment later the old workman, watching,saw him disappear behind some tall bushes.

As Pete Martin went slowly back to the entrance gate he did not knowthat the owner of the estate was watching him. From bush to bush Adamcrept with the stealthy care of a wild creature, following itsprey--never taking his eyes from his victim, save for quick glanceshere and there to see that he himself was not observed. Not until Petehad passed from sight down the hill road did Adam appear openly. Then,going to the watchman at the gate, he berated him for admitting the oldworkman and threatened him with the loss of his position if he sooffended Again.

* * * * *

When Peter Martin arrived home he found Jake Vodell and Charliediscussing the industrial situation. The strike leader had come oncemore to try to enlist the support of the old workman and his son in hiswar against the employer class.

CHAPTER XXIII

A LAST CHANCE

Jake Vodell greeted the old workman cordially. "You have been to churchthis fine morning, I suppose, heh?" he said, with a sneering laugh thatrevealed how little his interview with Captain Charlie was contributingto his satisfaction.

"No," returned Pete. "I did not attend church this morning--I do go,though, generally."

"Oh-ho! you worship the God of your good master Adam Ward, I suppose."

But Pete Martin was in no way disturbed by the man's sarcasm. "No," hesaid, slowly, "I do not think that Adam and I worship the same God."

"Is it so? But when the son goes to war so bravely and fights for hismasters one would expect the father to say his prayers to his masters'God, heh?"

Captain Charlie retorted, sharply, "The men who fought in the warfought for this nation--for every citizen in it. We fought for McIverjust as we fought for Sam Whaley. Our loyalty in this industrialquestion is exactly the same. We will save the industries of thiscountry for every citizen alike because our national life is at stake.Did you ever hear of a sailor refusing to man the pumps on a sinkingship because the vessel was not his personal property?"

"Bah!" growled Jake Vodell. "Your profession of loyalty to your countryamuses me. _Your_ country! It is McIver's country--Adam Ward's country,I tell you. It is my little band of live, aggressive heroes who are the